


The Scenarios of Skyrim

by NoAnonymity



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Baby Animals, Deadric Quest, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 02:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 18,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoAnonymity/pseuds/NoAnonymity
Summary: Follow The Dragonborn through the harsh land of Skyrim, home to a spectrum of people with which adventures ensue. Situations of stupidy, love, and comradery are sure to be found in this compilation of fills.Always staking requests via Ao3 and Tumblr: https://1000fiction.tumblr.com/





	1. Ralof

**When he first saw you**  
The wagon ride to Helgen had been long, stirring up a feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him want to vomit. On top of that, you, the unconscious passenger, only made him more concerned. The imperials had picked up two complete strangers during the ambush, it only made him less able to discern where they were headed. You stirred, grabbing his attention as he welcomed you back to the plains of Nirn. A series of bickering later, the walls of Helgen passed over head, his attention drawing to the sight of General Tullius and the Thalmor. He was placed in line for execution, watching you, an innocent of war, be kicked to the block. As if the thought of being beheaded wasn't enough, the sudden arrival of a dragon was surely going to make him taste his breakfast again. In the panic, his binds snapped, and he called you to the tower. You'd climbed the stairs together, though when he'd lost you through the inn, it was a relief to be rejoined by you through the keep. The trek through the fort had been tiring, so the open road to Riverwood was a welcomed sight, especially with you at his side. He'd reminisced about his childhood days, eventually bringing you to his sister, offering you a place to stay and a heap of supplies. It was not long after that you parted ways, a promise left that you'd meet again, not as prisoners, but as Stormcloaks, together. 

 **When he realised he loved you**  
They'd been in there far too Longford his liking. They could have sprung a trap, been captured, or worse. He shuddered at the thought, they'd been through too much together so far, they couldn't be put down so easily. At least that what he continued to tell himself. He kept his ears trained on the fort, listening for any signs if battle, that would be the signal. He huffed and spun his blade in his hand, they definitely should've made it inside by now, to the prisoners at least.   
"Ralof, the guards just left their post." He looked up to the empty walls and soon the air began to fill with the clashing of steel, but it was the battle cries of their brothers and sisters in arms that sent them to their feet. They charged the courtyard, meeting the others and gutting legionnaires in a their wake. Ralof found himself back to back with a comrade, both falling into an impenetrable pattern of turning and killing. In the break of the brawl he glimpsed at his partner, he couldn't hold back the grin that broke out at the sight. The survivor of Helgen, the retriever of the Jagged crown, and now the saviour of Fort Neugrad, thank the divines they were alive. There was no doubt Ulfric had made the right choice about letting them join, truly they were the embodiment of Skyrim. The strength of its mountains were carried within their shoulders, the fluidity of its rivers in their movements, the beauty of the grasslands in their face, and everything they did. Talos he loved it all. Talos, he loved them.

 **The First Kiss**  
As the merriment in the camp begun to die, sure-footed comrades assisted inebriated fellows to the safety of their tents. When all had departed, Ralof swigged back the last of his ale, there was nothing he loved more than this, a good drink with good company on a mission to reclaim his homeland.  
“Mind if I join you?” well, perhaps there was one thing he loved more. The firelight illuminated their face from across the way, their eyes clear and focussed from a sober first watch.  
“Only a fool would refuse such fine company, and even in this state I’m smarter than most.” Their laugh rang in his head, a sound which brought out the toothiest grin he could muster. To see them fierce and bloodthirsty by his side one moment then bent double in laughter the next was one of his favourite things about them, after all, he told the worst jokes.  
Their laughter died however when they took a seat next to him, not so subtly leaning against his broad arm. He stole glances at the Dragonborn as they did the same, his blush flourishing with the tension between them. Their somewhat ‘relationship’ had progressed no further them lingering gazes and hugs, though he surmised it was difficult to do whilst fighting a war.  
“You look drunk.” they smiled smugly at him.  
“I am drunk.” He spoke proudly. He took in a deep breath turning to face them too quickly. He’d been holding their weight, and now they were slumped against his chest, close enough to smell the mead on his breath as he exhaled. “I am drunk, so I will not regret what I’m about to do unless you make me, so hit me hard if you have to.” It was a minuscule action, leaning in to press his lips against theirs, but it was euphoric, the taste of mead and slight sweat, mixed with a sweetness that was just so them. His head began to spin, and even as they pulled away to breathe and he could feel the siren call of sleep, he could only decide this was what he loved more.


	2. Hadvar

**When he first saw you**  
Regret had swept over him as he watched you, face shoved against the freshly bloodied wooden block. From the moment he couldn't find your name he knew you were an innocent, another refugee attempting to cross the border and pushed head first into Skyrims civil war. He looked down to you, sending Talos a silent prayer, but was instead answered with the clap of the sky tearing.

A dragon, black as pitch landed atop the keeps tallest tower. He'd ran to help the civilians, the briefest glimpse of you entering a tower was caught from the corner of his eye. You became the least of his concerns, his mind set to ushering the people out of the dragons fire, at least until you came running from the burnt up inn. You'd followed him obediently, pressed shoulder to shoulder as he watched as the dragons talon nearly grazed your face. He'd been surprised to see you enter the keep before him, after all, he expected trusting an imperial soldier would be the last thing you'd do after the previous events, but nonetheless, escaping the fort had been pleasant, in its own way.

The walk to Riverwood was awkward to say the least, in fact he'd tried his best to be rid of you, and yet you were persistent in staying with him, though once Riverwood had been reached he'd introduced you to his uncle and family. He filled your pack with numerous supplies, watching you head off on your journey to Whiterun from the porch.

**When he realised he loved you**  
Hadvar had always been one for reading, books were an escape, a lesson, a relation to be found. Fairytale especially, had always been a secret guilty pleasure, the valiant hero, the mythical beasts, and of course the damsel in distress. Ever since he was a child, beating Ralof with a wooden sword, he'd wished to be a character those stories told tales about.

Now, however, was not the time to be daydreaming, the company of imperial soldiers had already passed through the bulk of Korvanjund, the throne and the final resting place of the jagged crown up ahead. The draugr - albeit terrifying - had been easy enough to defeat, especially with their newest comrade. When he'd watched his friend disappear up the mountain road from Riverwood, he'd never expected to see them again, let alone alive, but here they were cutting down undead like a hot knife through butter.

They were spellbinding, he couldn't stop watching the ways in which they fought, but his awe would not last. His reverie was broken upon the sounds of freshly opened caskets hitting the floor, an ancient axe, wielded by ancient hands, was hurtling towards his face. He hadn't the time to react, but they did, and within an instant the body lay dead once more at his feet. His survivor had protected him, saved his life, even risked their life, and as they looked to him in concern he couldn't stop his heart from skipping a beat. Yes, he'd always wished to be a character in a book, he just hadn't planned on playing the damsel. 

**First Kiss**  
The weight upon Hadvar’s shoulders lifted with the knowledge that Whiterun was finally safe from the Stormcloaks, and although his pulse still raced, he watched with a swell of pride as Balgruuff gave his speech. He was barely paying attention due to the ringing in his ears, but the clammy hand that took his cleared the white noise in an instant.  
“you’re shaking” of course the Dragonborn had found him, there was only so long he could evade the pounding in his chest that came with their presence. He hadn’t noticed any shaking, but now he was hyper-aware of it and their closeness.

  
He felt their hand release, only to thread their fingers through his and run their thumb over the lower knuckle of his. His breath shakily escaped him, “sorry” he swallowed thickly, barely feeling the supportive squeeze they gave to his hand. It wasn’t him to display such affection in public, but when he felt them tug their hand away, he found himself clinging on. he could feel the adrenaline in his veins, prompting him to act. They were here in this moment, grounding him, their smile creating that familiar pounding tenfold. He looked directly at them, holding their eyes with his deep brown gaze. He could feel their hand in his, feel the slight warmth from their breath on his neck, and it was this moment he realised they were alive here and now and it might not be that way tomorrow.

  
“Can I kiss you?” although his voice wavered with a hint of desperation, he couldn’t give a damn and from the way they decisively nodded their head, neither did they.  
The pairs lips were smokey and dry from the flames of battle, but neither could care for the singed taste or smell of sweat. What counted was the way he cradled their cheek, the feel of callouses on exposed flesh, and the warmth that seeped into his entire being. His hand never released theirs, even as the crowd cheered, and their lips parted, he knew he had them, here and now, and that’s all that mattered.


	3. Vilkas

**When he first saw you**  
His conversation with Kodlak had already put him on edge, so your interruption had only angered him further. He'd snapped at the idea of you joining the companions, stomping down the hallway, mumbling beneath his breath that he had to be the one stuck testing you. It had been a year since their last try out, all others being no match for the companions and putting their place into the army instead. 

Vilkas liked it that way, it meant fewer whelps to babysit and have gawk over him, you were no different and he expected this over quickly. He'd drew his sword and readied his shield before you'd even opened the doors of Jorrvaskr and stepped into the training yard. He watched as you eyed up his gear, along with the stabbed and shredded dummies that dotted the wall behind him, you drew your weapon, giving him no time to deliver his usual lines before you'd landed the first blow against his shield. You hit hard, harder than he had expected. 

His knees buckled, his foot supporting his weight and only just catching him from falling flat. He glanced behind you for a second, seeing the racket from your first hit had attracted the attention of those sitting outside the mead hall. He braced, pushing himself against the hits you made before you swung hard, again nearly knocking him to his feet. As he attempted to steady himself, you gave no warning and delivered a final blow to his shield. Vilkas coughed the dried dirt from his throat, picking himself up off the floor and glaring as hard as he could muster. 

He shoved his sword into your hand, ordering for it to be taken to Eorland for a sharpen. He approached the doors, refusing to look at those that had witnessed his defeat at the hands of a whelp, and sulked back to his room.

**Accompanying on a Deadric Quest**  
He hadn't questioned them in the guard barracks, he hadn't questioned them upon the hills of Falkreath where they had hunted Hircines White Stag. Now, however, as the blood moon came into view above him, he thought, perhaps he should have.

"Enough" his voice was gruff, hoarse and drier than he had expected. He coughed and shook his head, they were his harbinger, he trusted them, there was no need to be so nervous in the decisions they made, was there? "You need to tell me what's going on. We've been through a lot together, I've seen parts of Skyrim I'd never dare try to see without you at my side, but this? This isn't what I signed up for" moonlight shone through his fingers as he gestured to the altered surroundings, the red streaks blending with the streams of blood that dripped from the slaughtered hunters. 

The smell was stronger than usual, stirring his senses and setting his beast on edge, a feeling he hadn't experienced since Kodlaks murder, the night he'd slaughtered body after body of the silver hand at their side. They'd both experienced it, but not this time. They were at ease surrounded by this unknown presence, it sparked his nerves, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. 

His heart pounded as they took a path, leading to clearing covered by nothing but the moonlight. His shadow stalked him as they walked to the center, their blending with that of a ledge craning above them, spurring towards the sky. That foreign presence embraced them again, prickling the hairs upon his neck but caressing his companion with a familiarity. He hated it. The shadow beneath them flexed and he craned his neck to the ledge above, there stood a beast alike his own form, only larger, dominating the land it surveyed. He barely registered the howl from his side, but could fully feel the fist that gripped his heart, as the beast and his harbinger, began the hunt beneath the moonlight. 

**When he realised he loved you**  
“I still don’t believe I should be here Harbinger” The huff from his companion echoed throughout the empty halls of the tomb, the sound surrounding him, pushing him to chuckle deeply at their stubbornness. When they’d first joined, their nature had irked him to no end, making them out as a blight – whilst conveniently ignoring his own character flaws – upon the Companions. Though over time they had proven themselves fruitful, the downfall of the Silver Hand, the Glenmoril Witches, and even the spirits of Ysgramors tomb had fallen to their hand. He was proud, and if anything Farkas had said was true, he was smitten. 

He followed them obediently - as he had done on many an adventure – deeper into the bowls of the tomb, till they came to an imposing open room, a lit fire blazing ethereally in the center, casting shadows upon the wall etchings. His feet carried him past his harbinger, his eyes scanning every curve and dent in the stone, reading the stories of his ancestors in awe. Gods knew how long he studied the room, completing a full circuit before finding his leader perched upon the steps. 

His heart fluttered at their smile, slightly embarrassed that he’d become so absorbed, but no jest left their lips. Instead, they stood, pulling at sack they’d removed from their pack with them. It stunk, the unmistakable iron of blood stinging his nostrils. They reached in, revealing a head dangling by its wiry hair, a Glenmoril Witch. His mind was blank of the experience, the pounding in his head and weight off his shoulders the only evidence anything had occurred. He looked at them, seeing the quiet flush on their cheeks and neck.

“You put up quite the fight” He laughed. A full, echoing bellow that filled the room, contagious so that the harbinger joined, the sound filling the void the wolf had left behind. He embraced them, his arms wrapping around their frame as his chest heaved, he’d never felt so home.

**When They're Jealous**  
The trek to Windhelm had been exhausting and the fight against a pack of frost trolls even more so. In the end, there was nothing more Vilkas wanted then to fall into a bed with his lover. His spirits were higher than ever as they stepped over the threshold, only to plummet at the mouth-watering smell of fresh stew. Calder.

“Welcome home my Thane.” Vilkas couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes at the Nord, all pristine and stiff in the kitchen doorway, broad shoulders level, posture perfect as his eyes followed his boss. He unceremoniously dumped the killings on the floor, shucking off his boots and taking a seat at the table. His love fluttered into the kitchen, leaving Vilkas to glare at the studly housecarl.

It was Calder to break the stare off, bringing him a little satisfaction as the harbinger swooped past, placing two bowls of hot stew before him.

“Would you like me to run a bath for you, my Thane?” Vilkas chewed the inside of his cheek, was it so hard to have a nice meal, with his partner, alone?

“Yes, please Calder, that would be great.” The Dragonborn didn’t miss how Vilkas followed his every step up the stairs, causing them to snort into their soup.

“What?” he gruffed.

“Keep glaring and he just might combust.” They bit their lip quickly, reeling in their chuckles as they took a mouthful.

“I don’t like him, he’s too,” his hands flailed non-comitantly before falling to the table, one hand grasping his spoon whilst the other lazily supported his head, “perfect.” The word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It didn’t take them long to finish their stew before his lover spoke up once more.

“I suppose you’re right.” His only response was a raised brow. “About him being perfect and all. Just look at him, clean, trimmed, and there’s you, scruffy, sweaty, and splattered with troll entrails.” His brow furrowed, breath heavy as the knot tightened in his stomach. His eyes followed them as they sauntered to the stairs “but I guess that means he doesn’t get to join me in the bath.”

**First Kiss**  
It had been a long trek back - but a rewarding one – finding the merry revelers as they wandered the land with their packs full of mead, happy to share in their revelry when the ‘grand companion’ passed by. He’d nursed the bottle right the way to Jorrvaskr, his smile fading as he witnessed his harbinger hunched uncomfortably over the table, elbow propped up on the wood with thumb and finger pinched at the top of their nose. They huffed resignedly, slamming down her charcoal to the point it shattered and rolled back into the hearth. 

He pulled out a seat beside them, barely finishing his inquiry as to what troubles were plaguing them before the pile of parchment was slid in his direction.

Contracts, summons, missives… inheritance… their toll weighed heavy. Then his eyes trailed to the higher pile, the completed pile, and the two empty ink pots beside it.

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.” They shook their head wearily.

“You’ve only just returned Vilkas, I couldn’t ask it of you. Go, get your rest.”

“And what of your rest. If we finish these together, we’ll both get what we want.”

There was no further argument when he fixed them with a glare, their mouth slamming shut as he began his work.

He took the contracts, signing them off with a flick of his wrist, and the personal papers were left aside, another night in the privacy of the dragonborns quarters would be for them.

An hour and a half later, they were done, and the completion of the job was about as satisfying as the cracks they received from their backs.

“Thank you Vilkas, I do believe drinks are on me when Hulda allows back in the mare.” It was fleeting, innocent, but it set his heart pounding. Their hand squoze his shoulder, and then their lips were pressed against his cheek, the sensation lingering long after their footsteps had disappeared.


	4. Farkas

**When he first saw you**  
This had been the fifth time a giant attacked the Palagia farm this month, they'd been getting bolder and becoming more of a threat. He watched his companions race around the beast, Aela firing her arrows from a distance as Ria stabbed the skin of its thighs. He levelled his long sword against the ground, rolling back up to his feet and swinging all his weight into a hit. He sliced the skin of the beast, sending it whirling and knocking him back into the soil once again, the wound bled heavily, the stench of iron filling his nostrils as it thundered closer to him. He covered his face, ready to take on the heavy impact of a direct hit. One that never came. He felt the ground shake, sitting up to see the Giants limp body, collapsed face down in the cabbages. He looked over to the others, expecting to see their blades bloodied and quivers empty, but instead ended up following their gaze and landing on your figure. He gawked as you sauntered past, Aela catching your arm and thanking for your assistance. He picked himself up, joining the others to make the walk back to Whiterun, turning back only to watch you walk in the opposite direction. 

**When he realised he loved you**  
They'd been so easy to kill, caught off guard or not they were nothing in comparison, so why was he shaking? He looked down to his paw as it trembled in the mixture of silver hand blood, trickling into the crevices of the cobbles. He sat back on his haunches, his palms pressed solidly into the ground as he sat ridged. It had been too long since he'd last unleashed the wolf, he'd forgotten what it was like, the sensory overload hitting him square in the face. He could hear every shallow breath behind him, their blood racing through their veins, even the quickened pounding of their heart against their rib cage. He couldn't bear to look at them, see the fear and disgust in their eyes as they looked upon the monster he had become. He breathed, reaching out to hook a claw through the straps of his discarded armour, until he felt it, the hesitant hand against his fur. It stroked with the grain, then pulled, the dark strands threading and running between their fingers, gently tugging any mats free. He'd never received affection such as this, wolf or not, and he liked it, he liked that it was the newest recruit performing it especially. He crooned deep in his throat, the minor affections making his tail swish and tongue loll out of his mouth. It wasn't until he'd whined at the loss of their touch that he realised how intimate and enjoyable the situation had become. He shook himself of his daze, quickly gathering his clothing and running from the room. He shifted, clothed, and pulled the lever, his heart pounding in his ears as he entered the room once more. He stood bashfully before his shield-sibling, rubbing the back of his neck and desperately avoiding eye contact in order to suppress his blush. "Hope I didn't scare you too much."

**The First Kiss**  
The market was bustling today, with a new harvest and fresh hunt, Farkas had accompanied the Dragonborn to fetch ingredients for Jorrvaskr at Tilma’s request and had become swept up in the latest gossip. With their gifts, their hearing had been heightened, so they now unhurriedly wrapped their purchases, listening in on the forbidden couples’ discussion.  
“I’m with child.” Olfina had spoken softly to Jon, and the pair of eavesdroppers found their jaws dropping, along with the packages they’d had in their hands. As they gathered the items, neither could hold back their happiness for the pair, although the families had built a wall between each other, Olfina, a great friend to the Companions, had found happiness with one of the noblest men in Whiterun. The pair glanced over shoulders to find the couple grinning ear to ear until all joy was gone.  
“What did I just hear?” Shit. Nazeem. Of course, it had to be the biggest loudmouth in the hold to overhear, if he were to let the word out the couple would be ruined.  
“We need a distraction.” The Dragonborn whispered.  
Farkas swallowed, he wasn’t much of a thinker, but as he watched Nazeem stalk close to the lovers he knew they needed to act. “I can start a fight, that’s work.”  
“That can be backup, right now, catch me.” He’d been lost in thought, so his hands had barely any time to grapple to anything. He felt the curve of their hip in one hand and the underside of their thigh with another, his fingers gasping until they hooked beneath their knee. He bent with them, their hands locked behind his neck, pulling themselves up enough to lock their lips to his. Though his hands may have been fumbling and unsure, his mouth certainly wasn’t. It felt natural to kiss them, to have one of their hands move into his hair, reviving that sensation he’d felt in dustman’s cairn, causing him to kiss back with pent-up passion. In the heat of their make-out session, they’d successfully attracted the attention of Nazeem, along with the rest of the populace, giving Olfina and Jon the opportunity to slip away, though Farkas was far too pre-occupied to notice.

**When They're Jealous**  
Sharing had never been an issue with Farkas, he grew up with a twin brother, after all, having to share toys, swords, clothes, a room, and as a child the attention of his carers had been split between the two brothers. However, as he watched his partner talk animatedly with his brother. Drenched in the joys of a celebrating Jorrvaskr, he could feel the tightening knot in his stomach, begging him to get all their attention, to keep them to himself. He was so happy to discover his brother and his mate got along, but despite all that he couldn’t subdue this feeling.

He glanced up, the shadows from the fire making his eyes predatory as he watched the harbinger touch his brother upon the shoulder. A growl trembled in his throat, a sound so raw and primal it was enough to catch his brother’s attention. The twin turned to him, breaking conversation, and soon both sets of eyes were upon him. It was subtle, but there was concern, fear, present in their eyes, and it was enough to have his wolf scamper back into its hole with its tail between his legs, only for the tight jealousy to be replaced with a sickening guilt. He excused himself from the table, heading down to his room to lock himself away.

With watery eyes and heavy breaths, he slumped onto his bed, instinctively inhaling the scent his love left on his pillow, the smell only increasing his turmoil tenfold. They deserved better than an uncontrolled beast. They deserved better than him.


	5. Ondolemar

**When he first saw you**  
He'd been pacing as usual, back and fourth on the top floor of Understone Keep, the neck of his goblet held loosely between his fingers. He did this often, surveying the area, watching how the staff, and even the Jarl diverted and stopped in their tracks in order to let him continue his walking, it made him feel powerful, knowing he still held his place as a superior mer even in this barbaric land. He was so self assured, at least until you'd shown up. You'd marched up the steps, cutting him off and sending him reeling backwards to avoid getting hit. His guards went for their swords, their hands grabbing the hilts before being stopped by their commander. He approached the steps, watching you speak with the jarl and analysing you. He'd never seen a person such as yourself, the way you held yourself, the way you spoke out, he would've noticed you from the rest of the rabble. You turned to the steward, receiving a slip of paper and made your way back down the stairs, Ondolemar refusing to break eye contact as you passed, cutting off his path once more. You didn't look back as he moved to the ledge, watching you disappear beneath the stone archway.

**When he realised he loved you**  
Power was naturally attracted to him, it surged around him like lighting, it spoke to any inferior beings in his presence before he'd even open his mouth. For a meeting with breeding standards as high as his, this was expected,Mathis was protocol. But why were they such an exception. He hadn't been keen on the idea of approaching them, but it seemed they were more content on rising in Markarths ranks than they were eager to approach him. He was however, pleased, when they'd made a double take at his introduction, and even more so when they'd agreed to take his job. There was no fear throughout the interaction, no hesitance, no breaking of eye contact, how he loathed to admit he hadn't stopped thinking about those eyes since then. They hadn't returned with evidence the next day, instead returning to the jarl with word of forsworns being slain, the day after they returned with a shield, and on the third day they returned with a brute at their side, a new housecarl, and the title of Thane. His heart raced with the power this person held, to rise to such a rank in a mere three days, that must have included regular sleep, for he noted their skin was fresh and free of any tiredness. He gulped down the lump in his throat as they strode towards him, emanating that power that he was convinced only he could muster. They stood before him now, the stolen amulet swaying before him. The amulet jostled out of his reach, a denial of his satisfaction, a game for their own enjoyment, a simple action which ignited a flame within Ondolemar, the likes of which he hadn't felt since he entered this wretched city. Ondolemar knew he attracted power. Not that he was attracted to it.


	6. Aicanter

**When he first saw you**  
He hadn't been paying much attention when another adventurer had arrived, seeking admission to his uncles dwemer museum. He'd glanced at their figure as they'd pushed open the doors to Nchuand-Zel, the heavy metal grating against the stone floor, and echoing out across to where he stood at the alchemy desk. He'd dotted around the study since then, reading multiple books and mixing multiple potions before taking a seat on the stone bench, opening his book on dwemer law. He squealed in an extremely undignified major, flinging his book over the edge and into the running water below, from the torn and bloodied giant spider legs that had been thrown down in front of him. He looked up at the stranger, his golden face pale as you sauntered over to the enchanting table where Calcelmo stood. A quick conversation later, he watched as the golden key was placed in your palm. You passed by him, your eyes meeting and a small smile being flashed his way. He stared after you as you left, his heart beating faster in his chest, you were brave, bold, gruesome, and enchanting, and the young elf found himself deeply smitten.


	7. Teldryn Sero

**When he first saw you**  
Life on Solsthiem had become stale, in comparison to the mountain treks and endless wealth of Skyrim, the taste of Geldis' latest brew was nowhere near to sating his appetite. He wanted the rush, to feel the adrenaline that only the heat of battle could provide. He was aging, true, but he'd been fighting his whole life, and if he was to die he wanted to go out in glory. 

He was tired of the Retching Netch, his chair beginning to creak the same way his back would, but at least for now it was warm and kept him out of the ash. He loosened his scarf from around his mouth, taking a swig from his bottle of flin and feeling his leg twitch from the sudden rush. The alcoholic pleasure was short-lived, as a flurry of ash swirled its way into the bar from the open door. 

A stranger wandered through the entrance, shaking the ash from their shoulders and kicking it from their boots. They descended into the corner club, Teldryn eyed the Outlander through the blackened eyes of his chitin helm, he rose, stalking them as they descend the stairs, and stretching to overhear their conversation with the barkeep. He curiously watched as they stuffed 10 bottles of his latest blend into their pack and start towards him, they were a traveler, and one who performed errands and valiant quests at that, this was something he wanted in on. 

He rushed back to his chair, resuming his original position as if he hadn't followed the newcomer, and coughed for their attention. They turned and he couldn't stop the smirk that formed beneath his cowl "Teldryn Sero, the best swordsman in all Morrowind is at your service...for the right price."

**Accompanying on a Deadric Quest**  
The water vacuumed into his boot with every step beneath it and the squelching that his socks made when they reached the intermittent dry land was beginning to grate the old elf. He had so far enjoyed his journey with the Dragonborn and even if there had been moments when he'd questioned their judgment, their sanity all in all seemed to be intact. He'd been especially thankful to them lately, he'd worshipped Azura all his life and even his last patron had refused his wishes to visit the shrine, so to have the Dragonborn drop their numerous quests to allow him worship, he'd been speechless. However now in their current situation, he had to repeatedly remind himself of their blessing, lest he grumble to the point they fire him. He feared being left behind in many places within Skyrim and this daedra-worshipping mage infested sunken fort was somewhat near the top of the list. 

His torso had begun to dry -he thought- and so it was time for him to slip upon yet another misplaced pile of rubble, and fall gracefully back into the deepest pool they had come across. The splash echoed, as did the laughter of his companion. The sound floated back down the stairs to where he sat, jovial enough to spark a furious blush in his cheeks and a deep scowl on his lips, but at least it was a comfort to know they couldn't see it when they found him pectorals deep at the bottom of the stairs.

"Unsure if you are aware, but we are currently on a quest to reclaim a madness possessed artifact of a daedric lord, in fact, we are but a few rooms away from the summit, now is hardly the time to bathe" they chuckled and crouched at the edge of the water, staring intently at the emotionless eyes of his helmet. He huffed, flicking a drop of water up to them. 

"Look who's talking" like a sabre cat, he pounced, hauling them over his head and into the depths. The bubbles rose from their lips and the joints of their armour, and as they both stepped and ascended the stairs in a waterlogged chase, the squelching of wet socks had become at least slightly amusing. 

**When he nearly lost you**  
What just happened? He was seriously getting too old for this. Too old for them surely. This, Dragonborn. When he accepted their coin he expected adventure, not this. Perhaps this time, he had bitten off more than he could chew. He could leave, he had his coin, he was armed to the teeth with all the weapons they'd let him have his pick of, he was set, but his gut churned at the idea of leaving them like this. The tentacles squirmed and flexed around their limbs, the sight enough to almost make him wretch. 

They'd been in this condition for coming on an hour now, suspended, ghost-like, tangled within the writhing black masses. He was worried, he'd actually got attached to this patron, even in the short time they'd been together. He wasn't the type of person to panic, so even when he reached out to them, and the tentacles dissipated back into the book, dropping them lifelessly into his arms, he certainly didn't panic. 

He eased them onto the floor, the panic seeping in when there was no heartbeat to be heard. Then he remembered his helmet. He pulled it off, the chitin scraping against the floor as he leaned in to listen again, there was beat, it was quiet, but it was there, and that's all that mattered. Their breathing came next, prompting him to replace his helmet. His own heartbeat had begun to turn back to normal when they rose shakily on their elbows. They blinked away the haze that had clouded their eyes, reaching out and touching his arm to ensure he was real. He could shake his head, smiling behind his cowl with intense relief. 

"I can't believe you did that on purpose."

**When he realised he loved you**  
His pack was dropped the minute the doors to Severin Manor were closed, a handful of the trinkets he’d been forced to carry scattering across the floor from the opening.

“Teldryn!” he chuckled at their scolding, watching in amusement as a silver ring bounced its way down the steps to the lower level.

“It would’ve stayed closed if you hadn’t made me carry so much” they stuck their tongue out at him and he would’ve countered if they could see below his helmet, but alas he settled for a rude gesture of his hand as he strode toward the fire. His stretched – arms clasped above his head – his spine cracking several times, before seating himself in his favourite chair. His neck was the next to be cracked, lolling back against the wood as the knots released. 

When he returned upright, a bottle of sujamma was placed before him. He watched his patron work, poking the fire to rekindle it with great focus. He smiled beneath his cowl, popping the top of his drink and lifting the cloth to take a quick swig. He held it out to them, standing and brushing his fingers with theirs when they removed it from his palm. They smiled tiredly at him, the combination almost too much for his racing heart.

“I’m going to bathe, ill refill it for you when I’m finished” he watched them walk away, berating himself for the fleeting thought of asking if he could join them instead. As they disappeared from his sight, he removed his helmet, looking around at the home they had given him. Home. He’d never quite had one of those, and yet here he was, warm and wanted, and perhaps, just slightly in love with it.

**First Kiss**  
The ash had whipped up dramatically, sending the duo to seek shelter. The cave was a mere crack in the mountainside, cold, damp, and dark – til Teldryns palm fluttered alight with arcane flame. What little kindling they could find was thrown to the flame, the fire growing till it was enough to light the small cavern and warm their freezing fingertips.

They pressed together – side by side beneath a threadbare blanket, holier than a priest of Arkay. With a bottle of Sujamma between them, they made the best of the situation, laughing until they were wheezing at one another’s tales. He’d long shed the cowl - for it did nothing but inhibit his ability to drink - but his mask remained. Through glossy, beady eyes he gazed at his companion, their flushed cheeks, gleaming grin, and sparkling eyes as they – yet again – told him the story of the tiny jester and his broken wagon. He’d heard it numerous times before, but he drank up every word, if for no other reason than to hear their jovial laughter.

He passed the bottle, barely a mouthful left, but still, they threw it back, the blanket slipping from their shoulder in the process.

“You know…” They whispered, eyes lidded as they glossed over his mask “This is technically an indirect kiss.” They giggled, covering their mouth light a child. He grinned back, leaning to fix the blanket at their shoulder.

“Then perhaps we should kiss properly. There’s no drink left after all.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to purr in such a way – though when they leaned into him without a second thought, he didn’t complain.


	8. Miraak

**When he first saw you**  
The seekers had riled at the new soul that had entered Apocrypha, daring to turn their attention from him to the other. So this was the false dragonborn? The weak, crippled form that bent before his presence? It was more pathetic than he had predicted. He was a god among men, a chosen of the dragon blood, he who had risen up against the dragons that dared to oppress him to one of their priests. He had the minds of Solsthiem in the palm of hands, and the power of Hermaeus Mora to him by the prince of fate and destiny himself, yet this wretch of a mortal dare state claim to be his equal? He approached the helpless soul, lifting their face with the toe of his boot. Their eyes held an innocence and flickering of humility that he hadn't seen in a millennium, yet there was a fire beneath their pained expression that burned with determination and defiance that he was all too familiar with. Their face was splashed with ash from the island, and scattered with a plethora of scars, fresh cuts possibly obtained from those that protected his temple, yet it was still pleasing to the eye. He smirked beneath his mask, they would meet, and they would fight, but not today. He looked to the seekers and turned his back mounting Sahrotaar as the mortal returned to the plain of Nirn, they would be back, eventually. 

**When he first saw you**  
He felt weak, his head pounded, or perhaps it was the sound of his footsteps echoing throughout his body. In his previous life, hed never felt this, this fear. The mere thought of it made him sick to his stomach, or perhaps it was the blazing looks in the Dragonborn’s eyes that placed that feeling. Those eyes, each time he’d saw them they only grew with power and fury. With each stolen soul, their passion grew and it was here that it’d finally struck him. He was wrong. They were real. Not the false dragonborn he had planted into his acolytes. Hed anticipated they merely slew the beasts, a warrior with the strength no more than a regular man, but he was so wrong. He could feel the fire in their blood, the strength of beasts in their hits, and the wisdom in their thu’um. A combination that made his stomach churn in a way that was more than just fear.   
He reeled at their last attack, ethereal consuming his body as he rushed to his last dragon, the soul hammered within him, his thu’um primed and more primal than ever. It hit them, hard. They had remained standing, the display enough to make his knees weak. He would’ve crumbled then, begging and praising them, the true dragonborn, if not for the tentacles that dragged them into the depths of Apocrypha. The surface of the inky pool writhed and the brief of their hands spurring him forward without thought. He clasped the fleeting appendage with both hands, pulling them from the mirk. They spun to the safety of the side, and even behind his mask, he could feel their eyes looking deep into his soul. For the first time, he’d felt a slight glimmer of redemption and the fury in their died. Only to be shattered by the piercing pain in his chest, and the sudden weightlessness of his body.


	9. Neloth

**When he first saw you**  
Although it wasn't often that Neloth visited Ravenrock, he was positive they wouldn't usually be acting like this. The fact that they were mumbling inane phrases and simply acting zombified was not strange to him in the slightest, it was the fact they all seemed to be working rather productively. The powers of the stones within Solstheim had always intrigued him, but this was a new level, whatever was controlling the civilians was truly a great power, he was astonished by how much more tolerable they had become. There was one worker however that seemed rather out of place, they neither carried boulders nor chipped at the structure with a pick axe. He watched them for a number of minutes, simply waiting for them to do something of interest. Noticing his watch and staring right back was not one of his predicted outcomes. He raised a brow, watching them down his nose before clearing his throat “You there... You don't quite seem to be in the same state as the others. Very interesting. May I ask what it is you're doing here?"  the outlander started at his summon, dumbly pointing a finger towards themselves, as if any of the others were capable of establishing coherent communication at this time. The elf rolled his eyes and gave a brief nod, which apparently gave reason for the stranger to approach, to his distain. They clambered over the structures jutting from the floor, dodging the workers pickaxes and stumbling into the loose pockets of ash beneath their feet, perhaps this brief encounter would lead to something Neloth would deeply, deeply, regret.


	10. Talvas Fathryon

**When he first saw you**  
A deep ditch had begun to form, an ashy bank rising against the steps to the servals quarters. The young apprentice lashed his foot against the powder once more, another scattering to the pile, he'd already been scolded by the steward, the last thing he needed was for her to see him storm into Tel Mithryn with a shredded spell page and no ash atronach to accompany it. He flattened the spell against his palm, carefully searching each line to ensure a crease hadn't thrown of the weathered writing. He read, re-read, and muttered the line beneath his breath before turning to enchant the ash. He steadied his feet, folding the parchment into his satchel as he began chanting words of the arcane, his hands took a glow of purple, the matching hue pulsating in circles across the ash, the ash churned, moving in time with the actions of his hands, building and forming, purple sparks flashing between the rising clouds as they came alive. His eyes flashed, reflecting the Sparks before him until they clapped, the ash spiralling out of his control, knocking him back to the ground in an undignified pile. He ground, sitting upright and coughing out the ash that had funnelled into his mouth and dried out his throat. He shook the ash from his hair, finally noticed the bottle of sujamma that hung before him, the neck dangling from the fingers of a sudden stranger. He looked up to them, their outline defined against the blurred sun. He took the bottle, taking in their features, the glint in their eyes and the curve of their smile, even their stride as they passed, ascending the slope and disappearing through the doors of Tel Mithryn. He stared at the solid wood, a cough disturbing his wonder. He swigged the bottle, rinsing the ash and returning it to the ground where it belonged, he stood, ready to rehearse his spell once more, however this time, his mind was burdened with thoughts of the mysterious stranger as well as the thoughts of the arcane, a surely dangerous mix.


	11. Marcurio

**Accompanying on a Deadric Quest**  
"You know what I miss right now? Fresh air." The Dragonborn huffed and continued to fiddle with the lock upon the ancient dwemer chest, ignoring the continuous grumbling of her companion. "As advanced as the dwemer were, aren't you lucky they had locks identical to ours today, though I suppose it's no gain if your sticky fingers are inadequate." The dragonborns eye roll would have been strong enough to shut the mouth of any who dared make comment, but as the lock softly clicked open, followed by a near inaudible 'finally' they knew he would be the death of them.   
"Do you ever stop talking?" The lack of venom in their voice had the imperial grabbing at his chest, dramatically sighing at their deeply wounding words. The pair chuckled together at the antics, his heart swelling at the fact that they too found his charm irresistible, not that he didn't already know it.  
"So, shall we carry on? I'm already looking forward to getting back above ground" he struggled to push open the heavy double Doris, forfeiting efficiency for dramatic flare, as usual. The doors were barely open a slither when the first blast of vomit hit his chest, Peryites afflicted stormed the door, flinging it open and hurling themselves and their breakfast at the pair. Though their numbers were supreme, their skill and accuracy where severely lacking, meaning they were no match for the legendary Dragonborn and their sorcerers apprentice. The foes were felled with little injury, spare a few bruises that would show later. The Dragonborn was left panting, the heat that emanated from Marcurios spells heating up the room, amongst other things. The fumes had them gagging, their hand locked solidly against their mouth and nose in a vain attempt to block out the smell. They looked around, the pools of vomit bubbling and boiling from the flames, the doors were so close, the prospect of vomit free air, but they couldn't leave Marcurio. They looked around, finding him stood still in the centre of the room, a moat of bile surrounding him.  
"What are you waiting for? Come on!"  
"There is no way I'm stepping through that!" Their eyebrow twitched at the insufferable man, the stench flooding their senses once again, perhaps, for once, they could leave Marcurio.


	12. J'zargo

**Accompanying on a Deadric Quest**  
Thievery never was the dragonborns forte. They could be sneaky, even pick open some of Skyrims more intricate locks, but J'zargo had yet to see them successfully pickpocket. Luckily they were gifted with a silver tongue, or else the excuse of "just tying my laces" wouldn't have worked on half the people it had been used on, especially the times where their footwear had lacked laces.   
"J'zargo please, you know I'll bollock it up, I need that key." Their voice was hushed in his ear, their light breath making it twitch, he bent around the frame of the entryway, spying the court wizard at his alchemy table. The feline sighed and flexed his fingers, succumbing to the thought that he did indeed owe them after his scrolls had nearly burnt them alive. What was one theft in comparison to that? The small theft of a simple key. A simple key which could open a door to a potentially deadly deadric prince. Why did he accompany this person against? His ears pressed against his head, ultimately deciding that this was the last favour he would ever perform. His tail swayed as he stepped silently into the room, ducking beneath the desk as Farengar moved to study his map. His pupils constricted to slits, focusing on the slither of fabric that left the Wizards pockets open to sticky fingers. He was in and out in a flash, returning to the desk and out the entrance, ducking to the left to rejoin his company at the table. Their eyes studied him expectantly, and shimmered in delight as he dangled the small metal object in front of them. He couldn't deny they looked oddly cute in that moment. They took the key and squeezed his arm, the cat couldn't stop the smile, or silence the small purr.  
"J'zargo expects a scratch behind the ears."

**When he nearly lost you**  
"It'll be fun." They'd said.  
"This'll prove we're truly strong magi." They'd persisted.  
Now look where it had got them.   
They'd come out the first half, followed by a minor disagreement on Shalidors riddle. He'd re-entered the maze from the front, as he thought the riddle had meant, his companion however, had been adamant there was a second entrance. They had been right, apparently, for he now sat alone at the alter where the staves had floated when they entered, waiting for his friend to finally work their way out from wherever they had gone. He had nearly drifted off - tired from running the maze, opening every corner hatch three times over - when the unmistakable whir of summoned atronachs roused him. He raced forward, finding his fellow student already in the throes of battle with the atronachs, he whiskers tingled, finally the opportunity to prove his strength. His feral grin only grew as he dispatched the first flame atronach, only to have it drop as low as his stomach, when he heard the gurgling scream of a dremora behind him. To his chagrin, the dremora was no match for his friend, and the battle was over, they now sported the glowing diadem triumphantly upon their crown. He wouldn't admit to them how impressed he was, or how good they looked in the apparel, instead nudging them in the shoulder as he passed mumbling, "you were less trouble when you were lost."


	13. Lydia

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
She had to admit, the peace and quiet that surrounded her in Breezehome made her blissfully content. When compared to the busy and suffocating air of Dragonsreach, the opportunity to put her feet up with a good book was welcomed with open arms. It had become Lydia's regular routine, sitting in corner of her Thanes bedroom, guarding her prized belongings whilst enthralled in a novel they had collected amidst their travels. The crackling firepower, the taring of crusty bread, and the flipping of pages where the only sounds, at least until the crying of hinges and rush of cold air roused her from her stupor. The door creaked once more, the click of a lock sealing their little haven from the rest of Whiterun for the evening. Next came a scrabbling, skittering noise, as if tree branches where clawing against glass, a foreign sound within the windowless home but relatable none the less. She rose from her chair and headed for the landing, peering curiously down to the bottom step where her thane was perched. They cooed sweet nothings to the small mongrel that bounded about the fire. She watched in marvel as the Dragonborn knelt to the floor, allowing the puppy to bounce into the lap and retreat, chasing the shadows that littered the floor. She watched her employer's shoulders tremble, their stoic demeanour crumbling with each childish giggling and babied word at the animal. She felt an admiration bloom for her thane at this glance of raw humanity, deciding in that instance that perhaps this new addition wouldn't be such a burden to carry.

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
“Lydia!” the housecarl jerked at the sudden intrusion of the quiet home. It was rare that Adrianne visited, even rarer it was for her to barge in of her accord. The Nord thundered down the stairs to the sight of her thane, draping limply from the blacksmiths’ support. At their side, she attempted to shoulder the body of burden, but the Dragonborn shrieked at the movement, the raw energy in their voice causing the collection of tableware to rattle on the shelves. The sound was more than enough warning for her to release the arm shed attempted to lift, allowing it to drop back at their side. Air hissed through their teeth as Adrianne moved them to the chairs that sat beside the fire bit. Her thane all but collapsed into the chair, one elbow upon their knee, supporting their upper body. Lydia followed the arm that dangled lifelessly, her chest tightening with every new discovery.

The skin was sunken, red-raw with rows of sinew that hissed and steamed, their armour melting into the burnt flesh. The smell filled the room, her stomach churning, yet the choking sound she made came from her attempts at holding back her tears. She crouched before them, clasping their limp hand her both of hers, barely hearing Adrianne as she left – announcing she was to retrieve a healer – over the crackling of the fire behind her. They forced their head up to see her and Lydia could feel her heartbreak further. They slowly fell against her, resting their weight on her which she accepted with no complaint. She felt them leave slow, heavy kisses against her neck. Even dragons could be burnt.


	14. Jordis the Sword-Maiden

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
There were many in her past that had fallen before, tricked by her beauty, and those that had greatly underestimated her strength. She felt empowered to have been bestowed upon the Dragonborn, to be given in service to one so powerful only fuelled her fire more, a dragon trapped within the confines of mortal skin. Until this day, she looked upon them with the utmost respect, even to points of fear, so why – she pondered- were they currently coddling and swooning over the skinny, matted excuse for a feline. Her jaw felt unhinged, this was not who she was supposed to be protecting, not they who reduce themselves to rubbing noses with street cats, contracting gods know what disease it may be harbouring.   
“My thane?” She tried to be less accusatory, an attempt that had failed horribly. Sense was an unknown concept at this point, and yet the Dragonborn still had the capability to look offended at her, as if she was the one insane for not draping herself over the kitten. Her opinions on the legendary Dragonborn had truly been wiped clean. And slightly lowered. They took a deep breath, retiring to the façade Jordis had believed to be the real them as they rolled their shoulders into place, the right giving a click. Her eyes dared not leave theirs until her view was obstructed by the impossibly blue, and impossibly large eyes of the kitten itself, for they had lifted the feline face to face with her. The creature stretched, it's soft toe beans pressing against her nose. In that instant, what the Dragonborn had felt was utter adoration, instead, she was overcome with the sense of witbane.

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
The blood boiled and bubbled on one side of the sliced flesh, the other singed and cauterised by hot coals. The slight smell of burnt flesh that seeped around the room had been the reason for Jordis to retreat and crack open a window before returning to her partners’ side.

The couple had spent the day traipsing around the hold, slaying bandits and beasts they came across for nothing more than bonding time and a small income, thought the foes had been weak, their weapons had been treated with potent frostbite venom. This fact had been unknown to the pair until the adrenaline of returning to their private manor had led to the starts of intimacy. Clothes had shed, blood rushing, and a brush of her hand had led Jordis to discover it coated in blood and bile. Its safe to say that the intimacy had ended there and now the Dragonborn sat, half nude, with a leather belt between their teeth.

The cut was small but deep, and precise, the poison seeping deeper into the wound each time she attempted to dab it away with a cloth. With each clan section, she pressed a hot coal to the skin, the muscles spasming beneath her touch. She watched as the muscles in their neck strained with each harsh bit at the pain, it was oddly erotic, but this was no time for those thoughts. 

“I’ll hand it to the mages, they make that sort of thing look so easy.” She threw down the cloth and coal, it had been a full hour since she’d begun, but the relieved smile her love gave her almost made it seem worth it. She smiled and shook her head, leaning down to nip lightly at their ear, “But don’t think I’m finished with you yet.”


	15. Iona

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
She was always three steps ahead of her thane, ready and waiting with the towel they had forgotten which was required for their hair after the evening swim. She had memorised her thanes routine, calculated a way in which she could assist every step, if not to be the best housecarl she could be. The door opened and she straightened her back, holding the towel out to be taken, and to have the discarded pile of gloves replace it.   
“Good evening my tha-“ she was cut off as they diligently evaded her, water droplets landing against the wood as they gently placed the pile of clothes they had been previously wearing on the bed. They said not a word, not even as they left, descending the stairs to the basement below. Iona stayed quiet too, for she knew her thane for not one for talking, instead laid the towel atop the chest and reached for the discarded pile of clothes. There was an odd stench about them, not of flowers or even another person, no, more of a wet dog smell. She took the first item, a worn tunic, only to uncover the small amber creature that lay below. The damp fox shivered within its makeshift nest, curling itself tighter. Her thane re-emerged, an alchemical paste of some sort in his hand. She watched silently as they pulled back the tail of the small candid, dipping their finger to the mixture and introducing it to its nose.  
“Come on, it's good. It'll make you better I promise.” They urged as if they were a parent persuading their child to eat their greens, a common sight, and yet Iona was enthralled to see such actions from her thane. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, a small, pink tongue licked her thane's finger clean.

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
There was something about the Rift. The wilderness was wild and untamed, save for the new resident that pattered around Honeyside. Iona stepped around the wandering fox, depositing her collection of veg into the boiling pot. Her Dragonborn would be home soon, a thought that made her smile. She’d grown used to this, being that consistent thing they could home to, a domestic life she’d never dreamed of but now never wanted to lose. Her Dragonborn was like the Rift itself so you can understand her surprise when they limped through the door, hanging off a staff being used as no more than a walking stick. They grinned tightly at her, the pain causing twitching in their eyes.

“Help” she was quick to their side, noting the relief on their face as she took their pack. She noted their leg bent oddly, unable to bear any more of their weight.

“What did you do?” with their arm across her shoulders, they began the slow hobble to the bed.

“I didn’t do anything.” They sat on the crinkled covers, extending their leg out. She took a knee and began removing their boot, pausing and slowing with every twitch or hitch in a breath.

“Then why is your leg broken?” she retreated downstairs as they removed the tops of their armour, returning with an arm full of healing potions. The minute one left her hand it was gone, drunk greedily with the need for pain relief.

“It was the mountain.” Obviously. She settled the other bottles on the chest at the foot of the bed.

She stood before them with her hands planted on her hips, the smallest of smiles on her lips as she looked at them, their grin less pained but slightly lopsided – at least the potions were working. She handed them another, uncorking it and passing it across. “So, you fell?”

“Ha!” they swayed, a few drops of potion spilling onto the bed sheets. “I am the Dragonborn. I don’t fall down mountains, it tried to challenge me!” the housecarl couldn’t help but shake her head, flicking the lock that had fallen across her eye back into place. She took place at their feet again, moving the slowly healing leg to speed up the process.

“I’m guessing the mountain won?” the flexed the leg back and forth, satisfied that it could heal nicely with a couple more health potions.

“Of course not, you think I’m bad you should see the mountain.”


	16. Argis the Bulwark

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
After the Forsworn incident had been settled, Argis and his new thane had seemed to settle into an almost domestic routine. Currently, they sat in their silently designated chairs next to the fire, his thane had almost drifted off after his return from a day of plundering the local dungeons and caves, and he could only sigh in content at the safety Vlindrel Hall provided. The Bulwark stretched, arching his back and rubbing his good eye, relaxing landing him nearly horizontal on the chair spare the uncomfortable position of his head. His attempt to sit upright was thwarted when a small, stone coloured kitten pounced upon his chest, a perfectly warm platform for a nap it seemed. He looked at the ball of fluff, then to his thane, deciding they must have smuggled the creature in on their return, and had been able to camouflage it against the matching stone walls. He cleared his throat, the noise barely affecting the kitten.   
“Um, my Thane?” They tiredly looked at him, squinting their eyes, whether it was at the kitten or at his rather compromising position he wasn't sure. They awed and smiled brightly at the creature, an act that Agis had never witnessed them do, and pushed themselves reluctantly off the chair.   
“Climbing mountains already little adventurer?” They lifted the kitten from his chest and he claimed the opportunity to sit upright once more, fixing the crick that had formed in his neck. The purr that came from the feline was impossibly loud as they back down, it clambering up to rest on their shoulder, rubbing cheeks affectionately. Argis was confused no doubt, but still, content, even as the new adventurer took their place at the fire.

**When he realised he loved you**  
Housecarl. He’d signed up to be their housecarl, he was sure of it. Not their doll. If he was so adamant about being their fearsome protector, then why had he relented to their request? He didn’t know. They’d made a stop to wash up, his original position being guard whilst his thane took care of themselves. Once finished they offered the stream to him, though he politely declined, stating he’d much rather wash up back at Vlindrel hall. It was, however, under their persistence that he’d ended up in this position, sat with his feet dangling in the running stream as they threaded their fingers through his hair. He became lost in thought as he gazed into the running waters, allowing the slightest moment of indulgence. A soft sign left through his nose, enough to drown out the minor nagging voice at the back of his mind, telling him to fret over this strange change in dynamic. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d paid close attention to his looks. After all, a one-eyed-beat-up Nord hardly had anyone to impress. He had worried, anticipated that they would be disgusted at the state of his locks, but as they continued their ministrations they’d yet to complain. His eyes fell closed as he felt their fingers work upwards, tugging free the small knots and mangles. It was when they reached his scalp that he swore he’d gone to heaven, the sensations making his head loll backwards into their touch and his heart thrum faster in his chest. The sensible part of his mind insisted this wasn’t something people of their relationship should be doing, it was something couples in the books he’d read would do. That part was non-existent in the end, it became drowned out by the new sensations and pampering his thane was bestowing upon him. He could get used to all this.

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
The curse that followed the clattering of furniture indicated one thing – his thane was home. “quit calling me that we’re married!” they’d no doubt say if they could hear his thoughts. From his room, he entered the main chamber, finding them righting the chair they’d knocked over, he watched as their hands felt along the table, grappling strangely at the tableware.

“Love?” his voice was a low rumble, causing them to turn further than normal to see him. His hands shook at the sight, the dried blood mottled down their cheek and clumped at their empty socket. Amateur field healing had left a mess, but their steady footing and silence spoke that they were at least no longer in pain. the mere thought made his face twinge just imagining the pain they’d gone through. Their bottom lip wobbled, betraying the strong façade they put on. They tilted away from him, a poor attempt at hiding the damage that had been burnt into his mind, they felt so ruined, conveniently ignoring his physical flaws as they announced they were too damaged for him to love. His hands cupped their cheeks, bringing them up to him and they released tears from the good eye. He rubbed his thumbs across both cheeks, one smearing tears, the other breaking off chunks and flakes of dried blood.

It was late in the evening - after they’d bathed and dined together – they lay in bed, the Dragonborns’ eye now bandaged and hidden. Argis had guiltily admitted he preferred being unable to see it, the open wound reminding him how he should’ve been the one to protect them as housecarl and husband. But his partner heard nothing of it. They would move on, and Argis swore to them he’d be right at their side, leading the way.

**When They're Jealous**  
Argis was a renowned warrior in Skyrim, he’d braved wars, beasts, the land itself, and he’d yet to come across a foe he couldn’t defeat. Until now. The green monster reared its ugly head as he glared at the cloaked Altmer, watching wordlessly as the elf trailed his thane with his eyes, the same way a buyer examines a horse before purchase. His fingers twitched against his armour as the elf tilted his head to appreciate another angle. His companion was completely unaware, too caught up with the Jarls kitchen staff to notice the Thalmors lecherous gaze.

He heard the Dragonborn bid goodbye, immediately catching their gaze until they were blocked by the mass of black and Gold. He clenched and unclenched his fists, he had no fear of Ondolemar himself, but the idea that the Thalmor could take his Dragonborn away scared him, made the monster in his stomach bite and scratch at his insides, and whilst in Markarth, he knew Ondolemar would be the one to give the order. A hound trotted by them, sniffing the Dragonborns hand briefly before being shoved away by the commander.

Bingo.

The housecarl grinned as he fished through his pack, tearing off a chunk of meat and dangling it in front of him. Immediately, the hound’s heads had pricked at the smell, all slowly standing, stalking towards the feast. In an instant, he hurled the slab across the floor, watching as it slid beneath the Thalmor cloak. The pack was on the elf in an instant, careening into his legs and toppling him over. His thane swerved the dogs and soldiers as the commander’s assistants came to his aid, taking his hand, quickly leading him down the stairs, all the while biting their knuckles to contain the laughter. In that moment, the monster had been defeated.


	17. Calder

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
Windhelm was colder than usual this night, it meant a need for Calder to venture out and retrieve more firewood at the request of his thane. He reached the door, ready to shoulder it open when the small whimpering pup caught his attention. He looked down at it, watching curiously as it fought to press itself further against the gap beneath the door, desperate to gain access to the warm draft that slipped through. He glanced around before picking the mongrel up by the scruff of its neck and kicking open the door. The logs balanced precariously in the crook of his elbow and eventually tumbled to the floor as he closed the door with his heal. He looked to his thane – seated at the large dining table – with utmost embarrassment, for there he stood, one measly log in his left hand with the rest scattered around his feet, and a scruffy pup in his right. He was truly a sight.   
“Is that a puppy?” He was prepared to apologise profusely for disturbing his thanes evening, not prepared, however, to be questioned by them with the most enamoured expression on their face. He hadn't even answered when they'd risen from their seat, marching towards him and taking the mutt, lifting it gently beneath its arms. They marvelled at the creature as if it were a precious gem, their eyes glistening as if they were close to tears. “Who's a good little pup? You are!” The puppy wagged its tail, yapping and barking happily as the two disappeared upstairs. Calder still stood in the doorway, the logs still scattered around his feet. He begun to question whether the pup had been of daedric origin, or cursed in some way, for as he heard the shushed muttering so of his thane above him, he was thoroughly convinced, they had gone made. 

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
The whistle of Windhelm weather alerted him that his partner was home, the chilled breeze no match for the heat that emanated from the pot of stew he was bent over. He waited patiently for their usual homecoming antics, the wrap of arms around his waist, the sweet kisses across the back of his neck, and the inevitable swipe of barely finished food. He was surprised however when none occurred, and the only thing to be heard was the soft crackling of fire at his heels as he headed for the main room.

The sight that greeted him was sorrowful, the Dragonborn sat shivering at the table, staring helplessly at their paling fingertips. His instincts kick-started as he quickly switched the soup for a kettle of water, returning swiftly with a healing potion. His frown was tight as he helped pour the liquid into their mouth, tears pooling and trickling with each drop that stung chapped lips. Once drank, he gently swiped the tears away, pressing his warm palms to each side of their face, bending to place a gentle kiss on their forehead, the distinct chill seeping into his lips.

It was the whistle of the kettle that drew him away from them, but not for long. The kettle was placed at their feet, the rising steam a warm comfort that slowly began to thaw the ice. His next moved were not so graceful, but at least encouraged his lover to crack a smile. He stumbled to climb the table and sit with the Dragonborn comfortably situated between his legs, but once accomplished, he shed his chest piece and draw them flush against him. His warmth seeped into them, a sigh leaving their less frozen lips and their head tilting back to rest between his pectorals. He smiled down at them, pressing another sweet kiss to their brow. They stayed this way, embraced fondly, until the pain and ice had melted away and Calder confessed quietly in their ear, he couldn’t take away the cold, but he will happily bring the warmth.


	18. Rayya

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
The clatter of fallen armour had sent her careening down the stairs, throwing open the doors to the armoury, her hand fixed to the hilt of her blade. Her thane was on the floor, rubbing a sore spot upon their head, the display of ebony armour spread around their person. She circled the room, checking every crevice for the hidden assailant until she found the small beast hidden between the display case and chest. The wolf pup vibrated with how much it was growling, she assumed it was aggressive and had clearly attacked her thane, so she struck. It attempted to flee, the edge of the blade just slicing it's back leg, leaving it crying as it sprawled across the floor. She raised her scimitar once more, readied to put the beast out of its misery, yet she could only freeze as her thane threw themselves over it. She dropped her blade, fear running through her, would they consider this an attempt of assault? Would they tell the jarl? She needed to plead, to apologise, yet all her thane did was shush her quietly. They petted the beast and she nearly saw red once more when it bit their hand, yet it faded as it turned to licking the minute puncture wounds. Her thane was unfazed as they continued to smooth the fur, shushing and soothing the beast as if it were a child when they lifted it, cradling the injury gently in their arms. Rayya was left alone in the armoury, her thane gone to tend to the creature's injuries, and so she began arranging the fallen armour upon the naked stand it once occupied. He thoughts swam in her head, leaving her wondering, who had been the true beast in this situation.

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
“Good evening, my thane” the housecarls greeting was met with silence, causing her to smile at their silent treatment. “Good evening, my love.”

“That’s better!” the Redguard smiled as their foreheads pressed lovingly against each other. It had taken a while to break the formal habit, but after a year of domestic life, it was the perfect tool to rile her other half. She took their left hand in hers and it was impossible to miss the flinch it created. She took a step back, noticing their pained smile and the off way they held their shoulder.

“You’re injured” her mouth was drawn into a tight line, her gaze hard and posture not so dissimilar. The Dragonborn sighed, taking a seat at the main table.

“I’m fine Rayya, it’s only a dislocation. I just need to pop it back in.” they looked the housecarl, anticipating her next moved. Her training told her to immediately assist with any medical needs. Administer pain relief and ensure comfort. She clenched and unclenched her fists, breathing out and relaxing her jaw. There was once a time for protocol, but that fleeted with their wedding rows.

“You’re an idiot.” Now that made them smile. She unclipped her belt, folding it and holding it out toward their mouth “Now bite down so I can fix your mess.” They did so willingly, taking the leather lightly as she worked to release the area from armour. The Dragonborn hummed as her hands caressed the bare skin, only to squawk into the gag at the sudden replacement. They flexed and swung their newly mobile appendage, wrapping it around Rayya’s waist and pulling her in for a kiss.


	19. Gregor

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
The lift in the rock that hid the workbench provided Gregor with a great lookout, allowing him the capability to watch all that went on in the land. He enjoyed watching the wildlife that regularly came through, and even seeing Dragonsreach on a clear day made him proud full to have this position. Lately, however, he'd been focused on his thane, who was insistent on turning the mill alone. Gregor didn't doubt their strength, they were the Dragonborn after all, but the position left them far too vulnerable to his liking. He caught sight of two elk charging over the hill in urgency, followed shortly by a mother fox carrying a single cub, it's tail nearly tripping her front paws. The halt of the grindstone drew his attention to his thane who too had witnessed the creatures. The elk now rested in the fields below them, and the fox placed down her cub, snuffing the ground at the base of the hill.   
“I've never seen elk run from a fox, let alone one carrying a cub.” They came to his side, unease clear in their voice. They both watched the horizon, feeling a small quake in the ground as finally, the true cause emerged. A giant thundered over the hill, kicking up the patches of snow. He reached for his blade but halted when his thane's hand stilled him, he was right, if they could avoid the fight it would be best. They watched the mother scamper, the cub forgotten, however, her movement drew the giant more and it clubbed the ground. The snow faded, the beast lifting the carcass by its tail, she hung lifeless and broken, satisfying to the giant as it left, thundering back up the hill to its camp. The Dragonborn sprinted to where the cub had been dropped, searching the taller grasses until the creature was found, whole and undamaged. He listened as they cooed encouraging words to the creature, babying it until eventually drifting into the safety that their home promised. 

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
It had been only a few hours since Gregor had set out on his hunting trip, but already his arms were filled with the large elk antlers the Dragonborn had insisted he collect. His shoulders were piled with pelts, and the pack at his waist was filled with fresh meat. He stumbled down the snowy bank to home, careful not to drop the trophies, he smiled at the sight he must be making, but even after making the promotion to husband, there was very little he wouldn’t do for his lover.

He’d rounded the corner of the homestead when he saw the first drops of blood leading to the door, and once he’d entered the main room the antlers and furs were forgotten on the floorboards. The trail led to the storage room, where through the slightly ajar door he could hear the rummaging through and slamming of drawers.

He threw open the doors, letting them slam freely against the walls. The Dragonborn starred like a fox at the tip of an arrow, caught literally red-handed, the blood from the antler lodged in their forearm dripping into the palm.

“It’s just a splinter.” Gregor was speechless – though, by the situation or the imbecilic reasoning, he was unsure – but strode towards them, the mild anger and severe worry etching lines into his brow. He glowered down at them as he slammed the drawer they were previously rifling through, making the mighty Dragonborn shrink back from their spouse. Before they could retreat, however, their chin was taken in a rough hand, and then they were being solidly kissed, the familiar tickling of facial hair against their skin.

“How is it you bring down dragons but are maimed by DIY?” he shunted them lightly and headed to the other end of the room, pulling out several leather strips and a set of tongs. The audible gulp his love made could be heard easily from his side of the room. “Let us get this splinter out, shall we?”


	20. Valdimar

**Returning home with a baby animal**  
It wasn't often the Dragonborn asked for a company on their hunting excursions, known to be one to prefer the company of themselves, but Valdimar was happy to accompany his new thane. They'd even allowed him to choose the best place to hunt, having taken notice of his regular wandering around the homestead. The wolf den was in their sights, and they sat in wait of the beasts emerging for their own hunt. The alpha came into view, a spell lighting his hand in anticipation. They gave each other silent acknowledgement, lunging into action. Several more beasts came into the bog, all slaughtered with ease. Blood splattered their armour and skin, some had even managed to mangle into his moustache, but he was currently busy watching the land as his thane worked to care. They dragged the bodies into a pile, a method which was easier for one to stay and guard whilst the other left to return with a horse. He surveyed the marsh, a spell ready to deter any predator that had smelled the blood and death in the air. The Dragonborn was at the last carcass, one just inside the entrance of the den, but instead overstepped it, venturing further inside.   
“Hey, hey, it's okay” he turned at the abnormally soft echo of their voice, watching as they emerged, a dark pup cradled in their arms. They left the last carcass as it was, heading straight for their homestead, cooing to the creature until he could hear them no more. The housecarl watched their silhouette fade into the mist, hoping they would at least remember to return with a horse.

**Spouse returns home with an injury**  
It was not uncommon for Valdimar’s significant other to be gone on long trips, as their housecarl he’d become used to their week-long excursions even before they’d wed. it was, however, unusual for them to disappear for days for nothing more than a hunting trip. For a normal adventurer, the marshes of Morthal could be deadly, ripe with spiders, bandits, even the odd chaurus, yet none would stand against the Dragonborn, right? 

The sun was slowly lowering, the evening breeze quickly gaining its chill as he stood out on the balcony. A figure in the distance made its way toward him, wrapped tightly in a cloak with no furs present. An empty hunt. Not normal for them, but perhaps that had been what kept them gone so long, sheer stubbornness to bring back a kill. He descended the stairs, his boots crunching in the snow as he approached them with open arms. They ducked his attempted hug, his arms left held oddly out in front of him. His watched them barge into the house, quickly following as they hurried to the enchanting tower.

“My love you’re gone for days and I don’t even get a hello? Thought you would miss me more than that.” He wrapped his arms around them, unable to ignore the sudden stiffness in their posture as they continued to rifle through the chest of soul gems. He perched his chin on their shoulder, the fabric of their cloak chaffing against his stubble. From his view, he noticed the fresh cross-hatching of marks on the forearms, coagulated blood slowly turning to scab. He reached out for them, he’d never seen them flinch so violently before, let alone away from him. It was then that his heart stopped, his mouth became dryer than the sands of Elsweyr. From beneath her hood, he’d never seen the orange glow of vampire eyes so close.


	21. Brynjolf

**When he nearly lost you**  
They'd been doing so well, the market, Goldenglow, Honningbrew, Delvin had been dropping him glowing reviews day and night, even Vex had given her small pinches of praise. Now they were gone. Murdered in cold blood. Karliah had started the guilds decent to failure, of course, she'd rear her head when things were beginning to look up again.

"If you shatter that bottle you can be the one to clean it up, you look sober enough to do so." Vekel was right, he was sober, far too sober. He continued to clench his hand around the bottle, watching his knuckles flash white. His head ached, his chest tightening with every breath. He'd gotten way too involved with the rookie, he'd had so much faith in them, and now he didn't even have the stomach to get drunk and forget them. Like he had with all the other failures. 

He'd liked this one, they gave him back the belief he'd lost. He owed them mourning at least. Although perhaps he was lying to himself, perhaps he didn't really care and he had in fact drunk himself into a hallucinogenic stupor. For as he saw his protégé swagger into the flagon, he swore there was no way he could be sober.

**When They're Jealous**  
His arms wrapped around them, their back pressed solidly against their chest. His breath was hot on their ear as his twined their fingers together, manoeuvring them to his liking-

“What is going on here?”

The pick in the dragonborns fingers snapped, causing Cynric to scoot back as they booted the master chest.

“What the hell!? I was this close to opening it!” they pinched a minuscule gap between their finger and thumb before throwing their spare picks over their shoulder, showering the older thief. Awkwardly, he looked between the huffing recruit and their glaring mentor, choosing to quietly excuse himself from the practice room, expertly ignoring the way Brynjolfs eyes followed his exit.

Brynjolf glared at the now empty corridor to the cistern, pushing back his hair and scratching the scruff of his neck. “I’m sorry.” he watched them lightly clunk their forehead against the chest, the guilt thickly coating his throat. He made his way to the side, picking up a pick and taking one of their hands. He stroked their palm, feather-light tips gliding over their wrist. They squirmed and chuckled at the soft tickle before he wrapped each individual finger around the pick. “Try again, and this time,” he moved behind them, wrapping them in his limbs the same way Cynric had “let me help.”

Their fingers twined together, chest pressed against their back.

“Jealous much?” he chuckled, breath hot against their ear as they twirled the pick together, halting and adjusting in tandem until it opened with a satisfying click.

**First Kiss**  
“Mind if I join you?” He took his seat with the nod of their head, placing his tankard down and fingering the rim. Despite all that had occurred, it seemed neither could summon the courage to address their current predicament. Desperately, he threw shy, fleeting glances, coughing, fidgeting – pitiful attempts to gain their attention. His mishap still pounded in his head.

They’d barely made it out the ruin, bruised, battered, and soaked to the bone. Mercer had taken his toll on all of them, but none more so than the dragonborn. Brynjolf could see it – the way they stood, all hunched, swaying ever so slightly. They were drained, and seemingly invisible to Karliah as she prattled on about Nocturnal and the task his friend was set to complete.

He’d caught them when they’d fell, legs giving way to the fatigue that flooded their limbs. He held them, their face pressed against his shoulder, and reflected on all he’d put them through. From a quick pick on the streets of Riften to slaying their own guild master in a Falmer infested dwarven ruin. And what had he done to help?

His hands stilled them as they heaved themselves back up, face steeled and tired as they looked to him for – something. So he leaned in, brash and uncalculated as he pressed his lips against theirs.

He’d forgotten the Nightingale armour was akin to a second skin.

They chuckled from across the table, grinning as he flushed across his cheeks and down his neck. He’d never been so embarrassed. His hands held his face, a groan rattling through his throat as their chuckles silenced, teeth at their lip to hold in what hadn’t escaped.

A gentle touch at his wrists and his hands were being withdrawn, placed upon the table with theirs atop his own. His breath hitched as they leaned towards him, smirk shrinking til their lips puckered and pressed against his own, unobstructed.


	22. Cicero

**When he nearly lost you**  
The lonely laughter echoed inside his head as the jester lay curled in the puddle of his own blood. His mind dabbled on the generosity of the Dread Lord, all his faithful years of service to the night mother could easily be rewarded in the void. But now he had left poor mother defenceless, in the company of that false leader's family. Perhaps the pain he was feeling was, in fact, the act of Sithis, immediate punishment for leaving mother, leaving his listener. The thought ripped the strangled laughter from his throat. His poor listener, who'd been so gentle and kind to Cicero. Perhaps it was better this way for the fool of hearts could no longer find himself worthy of their sweet attention, their patience. Even after his long service, he couldn't deny that his new listener would be the one he'd miss the most, even the victory of cutting the lizard and the mutt would be nothing in comparison to their loss. His breath was fading, the laughter in his head turning to the chanting of the spectral guardians, but as their words silenced, he swore he was blessed with one final mirage of his listener. They knelt before him, their vision bringing his head kindly into their lap. He nuzzled his cheek closer to their thigh, vision or not he would not miss out on his last opportunity to be with his listener. He felt a cool touch against his lips, his mouth soon flooded with the bitter but warm taste of healing potion. In a mind-blowing rush, he could breathe without pain, and he could see! See his listener glowing above him. They smiled down at him, their fingers straying through his hair beneath his hat, and in that instant, he no longer felt alone.

**The First Kiss**  
The draugr were groaning as their bones creaked and echoed in the near silent tomb. Near silent, as the soft hum that emanated from the jester rattled around the alcove. The sound was of course not loud enough to attract the walking dead, but it was enough to put the Dragonborn on edge, their fingers twitching, picks snapping within the locked chest.  
“Cicero.” Their voice was low and drawn out, the pronunciation of his name was enough to send the most pleasurable of shivers up the madman’s spine.  
“Yes Listener?” His voice crescendoed at the peak of their title.  
“Silence, my brother.” The jester chuckled at their little joke, but the sound carried far further than they would have liked, but silence he did, and sat himself down at their side, taking to tinkering with one of many trinkets they had gathered.  
The peace was short-lived, however, when his boredom peaked, and his jovial declaration of ‘let’s kill someone!’ caused his fingers to fumble momentarily. Neither were quick enough to catch the dagger he had been twirling and could do no more than freeze as it clattered against the stonework. Monstrous growls came in their direction, and it was in the archway the three towering deathlords gathered. The pair wedged themselves as far into the corner as possible, so close Cicero was able to feel his listener shaking beside him. It was all he needed to act, no monster would threaten the life of his listener while he was by their side. He went to launch, though unable as he found himself tethered by their arms. They drug him close, anchoring his mouth to theirs as he felt his battle cry die in his throat, the world around him seemed to silence as he kissed them back with fervour.  
It wasn’t long until the beasts shuffled away, though it wasn’t as if the jester had notice since his eyes were closed in such blissful ignorance, so it was the Dragonborn that ushered him to pull away. They huffed quietly, a drunken grin taking over the jesters’ face as he leant in for another, only to be withheld again by the press of a finger to his lips.  
“You can have more if you remain silent on the way out.”


	23. Serana

**When she first saw you**  
It felt as if the world was trembling around her, quaking through her spine and to the tips of her fingers. The attempts to open her eyes greater than slits were not only painful but futile, for all that greeted her, was darkness no matter how hard she tried. 

It was when the casket came to a jolting halt that she hit her head on the stonework, but it was light that followed the scraping door that made her dizzy. Although the outer chamber was no doubt dark, it was the contrast of purples and a strange, ethereal glow before her that made her head pound and stomach churn. She needed to sit down, but her neglected legs gave in beneath her, the ground slowly coming up to meet her. 

Of course, no one falls slowly, which was when she noticed that blurry-eyed vision had faded, and was nothing more than a stranger illuminated by their surroundings. They held onto her forearms, securing her in this reality and keeping her from complete collapse. Several times she blinked to focus on them, the surroundings becoming as striking as their resurrectors face. Within moments her strength had come flooding back, allowing her to pull herself from their hold and back onto her feet. Even as she rose did they keep their hands out, cautiously floating to catch her should her strength fail once more. 

They were a stark contrast to what she had been expecting, not even one of her own kind, which raised questions. 

“Who sent you here?” answers and explanations were vague between both parties, a sign that they were at least cautious enough to not be blurting out every secret they kept, but the fact they still agreed to help her was a surprise. 

“where do you need to go?” Volkihar. But perhaps the name itself would scare them off, it was unknown how much they knew of her. So with a destination in mind, they set off, almost feeling sorry for leading them into a vampire nest, but if they were to work together then… 

“By the way… My name is Serana. Good to meet you.” 


	24. Karliah

**When she first saw you**   
_Damn Mercer to Oblivion_

The dark elf huffed as she lugged the lifeless body up the grand stairs of Snowveil Sanctum, their gear clanging so loudly it was a wonder how they’d entered the chamber to silently. She felt slightly guilty for dragging them into this, she should’ve known Mercer would bring a decoy. The way he spoke her made her sound important to the guild. Just another treachery to add to his belt, and another he would surely fill the heads of the others with.

It took time for her to break the surface, but even after, her company was still breathing. The last drag was to her camp, the relative blizzard pushing her hood from her. Unceremoniously she dropped them onto her bedroll, whether they’d feel it, she didn’t know. She watched them, catching a slight twitching in their hand, their head turning and eyes scrunching tighter. The poison was slowly slipping from their system, thankfully.

She thought back on how everything had played out, contemplating the anger she’d felt when they’d entered the sanctum and comb between her and Mercer, but she knew it was not their fault. They had never meant to be a pawn in his games. All the effort she had put in over the years, tempting Mercer with breadcrumbs of her location, having his empire crumble, it had all been discovered by this wild card. No wonder he wanted them out of the way.

That’s when it hit her. This being that had picked up her every clue, found their way to her and even survived an all too real run-in with death. This was what she’d been missing. Hope surged through her chest at the thought that this could be the contraption set in motion, the big break, the foot in the door to get back everything she’d lost and finally bring out the truth.

It was all so close, she just needed them to wake up.


	25. Legate Fasendil

**When he first saw you**  
The camp was alive and armed the instant a shadow slipped over it, archers pointed their arrows at the winged beast, whilst others held sword and shield with white-knuckled grips. Fasendil stood amongst the troops, his eyes following as the dragon let out an otherworldly screech, then barrelling down behind the lowest mountain range. It wasn’t until the distant cloud of kicked up dust cleared that confused whispers began to spread, the bowmen confusedly looking between one another before slowly lowering their weapons, never quite taking their eyes away from the landing spot as they did so.

The legate, however, refused to lower his guard, the creature was injured, and as any experienced fighter should know, that can always make it more dangerous. He considered what kind of enemy could have weakened it to such a state, which was when he became acutely aware of the approaching thunder of hooves.

The bulky steed sent several of his men onto their arses as it entered the camp, halting and rearing a mere few inches from his own body. His eyes connected with the fiery gaze of its rider, their gear smelling of smoke and fire. So this was the dragon hunter. He found himself immobile in their presence and could do nowt but stare as they edged their horse around him and over the eastern barricades.

Once he found his senses, Fasendil joined the crowd at the edge of camp, watching as the hunter spurred their horse onward, galloping until they could be seen no more behind the range. Soldiers muttered in awe of the brave slayer, but not Fasendil, attempting to kill a dragon in its own lair, alone, it was complete suicide. So as any noble knight would, he raced to his own mount and gave chase.


	26. Lucien Lachance

**The First Kiss**  
The spectre watched as the lovers began what would be – unbeknownst to them – their final forbidden embrace. From where he sat high in the rafters, he could see his listen, perched on the wooden supports more in the centre of the room, right above the sweethearts. Their contract this night was very specific, both needed to die in a way that would shame their families entirely. Jealousy was a delightful thing.  
Envy, however, was not such a pleasant feeling, especially when it rested on Lucien’s chest. He could nought but wait and watch as the lover’s passion escalated, mouths and hands at each other bared skin. He had known no such passion in years.  
The sudden arrow flew precisely, striking the couple dead just before their climax, it was almost poetic, the two bodies connected by forbidden love and sudden death. He’d been lost in thought too long and hadn’t noticed his listener creep around toward him until they were whispering in his ear.  
“I must say I never had you pegged as a voyeur.” Their chuckle slowly faded with his lack of response, their focus following his downcast eyes to his hands.  
The mists of his palms swirled like a storm until they were a nearly solid white and able to be placed upon their cheeks, his thumbs rubbed against their cheeks, following the lines of their jaw to their neck, across their shoulders, and down their arms till they were placed atop the listeners own.  
“My hands,” he spoke with a slight waver in his voice. “They were my tools, so I have been unable to forget how to use them. But the rest of me feels lost, how can be all you deserve if I cannot even be whole.” His voice broke, his body fading in despair, his see-through fingertips fading into their own skin.  
“Lucien.” His breathing laboured as they leant into him, placing an empty kiss against his fading lips. “Be selfish. Want it not for me but for yourself.”  
So, he did, he begged every inch of his being to let him be whole, to be able to feel them as he had dreamed of in the void. He trembled, praying that the dread lord may grant him this, to no longer feel alone and be one with they who he cherished…  
Their lips were better than he’d imagined.


	27. Ulfric Stormcloak

**The First Kiss**  
“I cannot do it my king. I have but one reason to end his life, the injustice behind my head almost being severed from the body, but that is not nearly enough for such a pleasure. I’ve slain enough of his mutts to gain my satisfaction.” Ulfric watched in unadulterated pride as his left hand circled the kneeling, quaking general. Tullius lifted his head, his adam’s apple bobbing and barely skimming the point of their blade against his throat. His eyes followed their hands as they sheathed their blade, gave a closed-eyed smile, and collided their fist with his jaw. A chocked sob left Tullius, along with several of his teeth, which only improved his mood and brought out a sadistic grin on Galmar.  
The beaten man hung his head, bloody droplets trickling onto the floor beneath. Ulfric watched as they drew Tullius’ blade from his side and advanced towards him, the spotless blade gleaming before him, presented with a bow of the Dragonborns head.  
“For all your sons and daughters.” He held his head high as he took the blade, the names of the sacrificed men and women swirling in his mind as his fingers trailed their open palm, slowly wrapping around the hilt.  
The blade screeched against Tullius’s armour as Ulfric plunged the blade through a gap, finding it slide through his ribs and into an organ with each extra push. The sound was a pure satisfaction to Ulfric, for it mingled with the dying wails of the general, a sound that carried to the ears of his comrades that awaited in Sovngarde, applauding their sacrifice.  
As death took the Imperial, Ulfric released the blades, letting the body slump to the floor in a bleeding heap. Galmar clapped him triumphantly on the shoulder before dismissing himself, hollering something about rallying troops for a celebration. The Dragonborn had attempted to do the same, but Ulfric found himself seizing their hand in the process. He turned to stand with them toe to toe, holding their sizeably smaller hand in both of his large palms, swiping the small splatters of blood from their knuckles and bringing it up to press against his lips in a kiss.  
“Thank you.” There was an unspoken moment between the two, one that urged both forward to take the kiss both had been longing for. The war was won, and so was his heart.


	28. Saadia

**When They're Jealous**  
The Bannered Mare never failed to flood with life when the Dragonborn rolled back into Whiterun, all would gather around the fire pit with mead in hand, and eager ears to hear their stories of dragons, magic, and adventure.

There was no argument that it was brilliant for business, and though the tips were welcome, they didn’t make up for the knotted feeling in the pit of her stomach. After the issue with Kematu was resolved, Saadia had hoped she and the Dragonborn could spend time together, desiring their company in a selfish way, though it seemed the rest of the world needed their attention more.

She was glowering at the fire when the Dragonborn caught her, pouting like a child with her arms folded and weight against a wooden beam. They shook their head and chuckled before raising their voice to rouse the crowd.

“How’s about the one where I rescued a beautiful maiden from a great green monster?” Saadia had started at their volume, easily spotting their smug grin, shoulders shaking from containing their laughter. She shifted her weight defiantly, hands on hips, glaring hard as she could muster to erase the fact she’d been caught red-handed. She deflated, however, when they winked at her, shoving themselves along the bench and sending Mikael to the floorboards. They patted the now open spot next to them, and though flushed, she weaved her way through the crowd to take a seat at their side.


	29. Gwilin

**First kiss**  
“Excellent day for a swim” his voice was honey on the wind, an irresistible treat that had the dragonborn turning from their task in an instant. His shadow covered them, granting them the ability to gaze upon his smiling face, eyes crinkled at the corners, as he peered over the bridge at them.

“Perhaps you should join me them.” They’d been serious, but the jovial chime of his laughter proved the man was still all too innocent of their affections.

Once again, the sun shone in their eyes, and the crunching of fallen leaves that grew closer proved he’d abandoned his previous spot. They joined him at the bank, his eyes darting away and a dusky brown coating his cheeks. They were soaked to the bone, dressed in nothing but their underthing’s – and the medallion that hung from their wrist.

“I do believe this situation is a tad inappropriate” He mused

“Have to live life in the moment though don’t you?” It was a motto of sorts, one they turned on him regularly – an excuse to drink, to fight, to love – all to see his nose twitch in mild discomfort. They weren’t wrong.

“True, but yours are turning to bad habits.” He mumbled, allowing their laughter to ring in his ears and deepen his flush.

Temba’s voice shocked them both – a summon almost as powerful as the greybeards. He looked towards to mill, considering what trouble a moments delay could cause him – the dragonborn didn’t visit Ivarstead often.

With a deep sigh, he turned to say his farewells, only to have their touch behind his neck, and their lips upon his own.

“I do hope that becomes a habit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to make requests (general requests receive 4 fills and specific characters can be requested)


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